The Difference
by clair beaubien
Summary: Tag to MBV. After detoxing the 2nd time, Sam wonders if there's any difference between himself and Jack Montgomery. He doesn't think so. Dean of course has other ideas.


Sam was out of the panic room. _Again_. This time had been the full deal. One night and day of Dean flying the Impala to Bobby's house while Sam slowly unraveled into the hell of withdrawal. Then three days of the terror, horror, and agony of the full withdrawal, followed by another full day and a half of the shame and pain and mess of crawling back up out of it. Then four full days of recuperating topside at Bobby's, all the while Dean shadowed him with all the detached composure of an easily-panicked father watching his toddler walk too close to a steep flight of stairs.

Finally, they all three agreed - Sam first, Bobby second, Dean _dead _last - that Sam was ready to get back to work, so here they were, roaring down some empty back road on the way to a hunt that '_absotively posilutely_' did _NOT _have demons attached to it, no way, no how, no _freaking_ possibility - Bobby and Dean had _both_ made sure.

_Freak_. Sam hadn't heard that word in a long time. Dean hadn't used that word even once - at least not in Sam's hearing - since Jack Montgomery.

And all it had taken was a major explosion and minor meltdown on Sam's part '_you look at me like I'm a freak!'_ for Dean to stop using it.

Sam sighed.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Nothing."

"No, that wasn't your '_nothing'_ sigh. That was your '_walking through fire_' sigh. Something you'd like to share with the class?"

"_Nothing."_ Sam tried again. Tried _unsuccessfully_, judging from the look Dean gave him. He shrugged and told him, "I was thinking about Jack Montgomery."

Dean let out a short, unamused, breath of his own, and Sam let it drop. Jack wasn't a happy memory for either of them. A few miles down the road though, Dean asked,

"_And?"_

"Nothing. Just – nothing."

Dean let it go. Well, no. Sam knew Dean wasn't _letting it go_; he was working it out in his head, trying to figure out what Sam _was_, _could_ _be_, or _might_ _be _thinking about Jack Montgomery.

He did that, Dean always did that, tried to put himself one step at least in front of Sam and anything that was bothering him, so that when Sam finally got there too, Dean would have the remedy all ready and waiting.

Sam kept himself from sighing again and watched the world go by his window at top speed. But the view outside blurred into the images he carried of Jack, and none of them were good. Mostly the blood. Maybe because of his own addiction, Sam's mind churned up all the memories of the blood at Jack's house; on the carpet, on the furniture, on Jack's face.

He '_hmpfd' _softly to himself. The pattern of blood on Jack's face had been almost exactly like the blood on his own after his 'feeding frenzy'. _Frenzies_. _**Plural.**_ Despite all that Sam had hoped and prayed and worked for, he really was no different than Jack: an affliction neither of them had asked for, a compulsion they each succumbed to, needs that couldn't be satisfied, and family that couldn't begin to comprehend the pain and misery and confusion that was a constant part of life because of it all.

Sam held back another sigh.

Sure enough, just like he thought, at the eleventh mile marker from when he'd first asked what Sam was sighing about, Dean said,

"You know the biggest difference between you and Jack?"

"Height?" Sam asked, though he didn't feel the humor.

"_No_, Smartass. _He gave up._ You've _never_ given up, and you never will. You'll keep fighting it. You'll keep fighting whatever you _have_ to keep fighting to keep going wherever you need to go. _That's_ the difference between you."

Sam turned and looked out his window again and watched the mile markers go by. He was a little surprised that Dean would say something so strongly positive about him, and he was humbled by it.

Well, there were _other _differences between Sam and Jack, of course.

Sam'd had years of acclimatization to all things monstrous, including himself. Jack had only had days. And Jack'd had more to lose than Sam, more than just himself. When he turned, even iff he'd been able to resist the pull of his affliction after that, when he turned, he lost his place in society, his job, his home, his family, his ability to support his family.

_His wife._

She'd apparently run as fast and as far and as soon as she possibly could when she realized what Jack had become.

And when Dean realized what Sam had become -

_Dean - _

Sam turned to look at Dean, a sense of surprise and awe coming over him.

Both times that Dean had seen Sam '_succumb'_, he'd run, too: right to Bobby's panic room, with Sam securely in tow.

_The remedy all ready and waiting._

"_What_?" Dean asked, when Sam couldn't stop staring at him.

"Jack's wife abandoned him."

Dean shrugged.

"_You blame her? _There're some things even '_for better or worse_' doesn't cover._"_

"_You _didn't run." Sam said. "Not from me. Last year, you saw what I'd become, then last week you saw what I'd become _again_, and _you didn't run_."

Dean shot him such a look of disbelief, Sam felt it in his chest.

"Did you think I _would_?"

Sam looked away then. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about that a hundred different times and a dozen different ways. But he'd always come up with only one answer.

"Yeah. I guess I did. I figured you'd get me as far as the panic room and lose the key. This last time especially, I was surprised – I'm _still _surprised that you _didn't _just walk away and leave me there. After everything, after I've showed you - how_ many times? -_ that you can't trust me -"

"_Sam."_ Dean tried to interrupt him but Sam pushed on. He'd only ever had one answer _until now. _

"Jack's wife saw what he was and she _abandoned _him. _You _saw what _I _was - _both times _- and you _saved _me_. _You _tried _to, anyway. You didn't shove me into the panic room to protect yourself _or_ the world _or_ anybody else from me. You put me there to protect _me_ from me, to _take care of me_. And I just - I just - I only just really realized that."

There was a lot of silence after that. Dean never liked to be thanked, especially for big things. And this was _huge, _so they drove on for a while in the silence. And then, so quiet at first that Sam almost missed it, Dean said,

"The first time, last year, I _was_ angry at you, I was _Level 10 pissed _at you and I was going to keep you down in that panic room _literally_ until Kingdom Come. But underneath all the pissed, I was worried about you and I wanted you to be okay, I knew that you were in over your head. This time, I just – I _knew_ – I had an _idea_ what it costs you every day, every _minute_, to keep it controlled, and I knew what it was going to cost you that you _couldn't_ control it. And both times, all I could think was, '_How do we deal with this?' _because I _was _going to find a way to make it right. I wasn't going to leave you alone in it."

There was silence after that remark too. It made Sam uncomfortable to hear Dean imply that he still saw something worthwhile in Sam, something worth all risks and struggles and sleepless nights. Like he was still worth all the effort. And it _was _an effort, it had to be, because looking out for Sam was never _habit_ for Dean, it was never _reaction. _Taking care of Sam was always _action._

_The remedy all ready and waiting._

Sam saw the _real _difference between himself and Jack.

"It's easier to fight when there's somebody there who won't let you fall.." He said.

Dean acknowledged the words and the sentiment with a half-nod, half-head-tilt, half-smile, happy, proud, and embarrassed all at once.

Sam counted eighty seven more mile markers before either one of them said anything again.

The End


End file.
